


Splintered Hooves

by MissTantabis



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Gen, M/M, Oneshot, Slice of Life, slight hints at fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:25:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTantabis/pseuds/MissTantabis
Summary: John Childermass returns from a small stroll and finds Jonathan Strange, who has a problem with his horse. Being the generous man he is, Childermass offers his help.





	

Spring in England. The rain was getting less; the fog, which used to drown streets and moors into a hazy twilight, was slowly lifting itself, dissolving into the cool and fresh air; and the grass was getting greener. Trees were in full blossom and between the green leaves animals were bustling around. Birds chirped and squirrels searched for that one tasty nut.

A pleasant joy could be found in the streets of London. Women were talking long walks in the park, umbrellas over their shoulders and woollen scarfs around their arms. Men rode through the country. Everybody was relieved to get out of the houses, which had darkened over the time of winter and became unbearably lonely and biased, while outside the storm had howled and the night had been hunting the day to exhaustion.

The crunching of hooves on the sand. A black stallion was slowly trotting through the street. It was a big, ugly animal, whose fur was dull and dark. The mane was long and ragged. It had a few knots in it and hung over the eyes. The tail, long and full, trailed behind the slow and calm steps. Brown eyes glimmered under dark eyelids, wet and open.

The horse’s rider was almost as imposing and threatening looking as his animal. A horrendous, wild, romantic looking figure, that could have fit easily into a story of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. He was a dark looking sort of someone, despite the pale skin. His long, ragged, black brown hair hung in curls underneath the cylinder he was wearing. A large, long-coat of a black, seemingly sturdy fabric. The fingers stuck in leather gloves, which handled the horse’s reigns carefully.

John Childermass was slowly leading Brewer back into the direction of Hanover Square. He had used the good weather to take a decent stroll in the surrounding fields. Childermass often took rides, usually when Norrell asked him to get a rare and priceless book. However sometimes the Yorkshireman also used these strolls to get a clear head. Have an opportunity where he could think nothing.

And right now he needed this more then ever. The house at Hanover Square felt polluted in Childermass’ eyes with Lascelles constantly lurking around. His influence was slowly spreading over the place like a germ the dark Yorkshireman could not get rid off. No matter how hard he tried. He still prayed that one day Norrell would give Lascelles the pass.

Childermass blinked in surprise when he saw another rider coming from the opposite direction. He was riding a white stallion with blue eyes. The mane and tail were shorter and cleaner then Brewer’s and in general the horse looked more noble. However there was something odd about the way it walked. Childermass furrowed his brows. Was it slightly limping?

The rider was a young man with reddish brown locks and brown eyes. He had the hints of beard stubbles around his mouth. The man wore a long, navy blue cloak and a brown vest underneath it. His leather boots went up shortly to his knee. He too seemed to have noticed that his stallion was limping for he halted it in worry.

Recognising the rider, Childermass spurred Brewer and after a short, fast trot reached the other rider. “Mister Strange”, the servant called as he halted his stallion, “What a surprise. What are you doing here?” Jonathan Strange, fellow magician and pupil to John’s master, Mr. Norrell, smiled. He responded: “Greetings, Childermass. I am out for a stroll. Using the good weather. What are you doing here? Out on business, I presume?”

“Nay”, replied Childermass. He watched Mr. Strange climb down the horse back, before he slowly followed the example. “I too were out on a stroll. One does not leave horses in the stable during such a good weather.” Jonathan was approaching his stallion. He murmured: “I think I accidentally made him walk too fast on one of those roads. You know the one that leads south. It has a few loose stones in it.”

Childermass whistled sharply. He was holding Brewer’s reigns with one hand. His stallion was bopping his head, smelling that something was off. “Them are treacherous for a horse’s hooves, Strange”, he called, “No wonder the poor fellow limbs. Yah should have gotten the stone out far sooner. It probably dug itself deep into his flesh.”

“I know.” Jonathan shook his head. He was gently caressing the white horse’s neck. “But I sadly only noticed it just now.” He slowly let his hand wander over the horse’s leg. “Hoof”, he demanded. The stallion nickered and took a few sidesteps. 

Strange sighed sadly. “Come on, Felix”, he urged the stallion, “Please.” He took his reigns again and softly caressed the animal’s neck. “I know it hurts, but I need to get a proper look.” Felix did not seem convinced for he kept shivering and tried to disburden his right leg.

Childermass gave Jonathan an empathic look. “May I try?”, suggested the Yorkshireman, “Perhaps he will follow my lead.” Strange sighed. “Sure”, he responded, “As long as we get out whatever is stuck in his hoof.” He stepped aside. Childermass let go of the reigns and walked towards Felix.

He knew Brewer well enough. The stallion would not leave or do something stupid. He and his master had worked together for many, many years. Childermass had learned to trust his horse as the stallion trusted him. Many horses would not dare to ran through a thunderstorm, fearing lightnings and the thunder, but if Brewer had Childermass on his back, he feared nothing. In exchange Childermass had learned to read his language and trusted him when the stallion decided to take a different road for he could foresee treacherous parts better then his master.

Childermass reached into his cloak’s pocket and pulled out an apple. The ripe and red fruit was usually meant for Brewer, but right now it seemed Felix needed it more. “Hey”, Childermass cooed softly, “Calm down, young one. I won’t hurt you.” The white stallion kept doing sidesteps, however when he heard the soothing and calm tone, he turned his head and laid his focus on the man before him.

“There, there”, Childermass whispered. He slowly reached forwards and took Felix’ reigns. “Good ol’ boy. Look what I have here.” He offered him the apple. “Do you want it?” The stallion lowered his head. He was still trembling a bit, but he now took the apple and ate it slowly. Childermass slowly caressed the white horse’s neck. “That’s tasty, isn’t it?”, he asked gently and smiled.

Once Felix had calmed down, Childermass stopped caressing his neck. His hand slowly wandered over the right leg. Near the ankle his grip tightened barely. “Hoof!”, rasped the Yorkshireman. His command was a low murmur, but there laid a calm authority in it. And to Jonathan’s surprise and wonder, Felix slowly lifted his right hoof and allowed Childermass to have a proper look.

The Yorkshireman whistled. “Now that’s a bad one”, he murmured. In the stallion’s hoof was a small pebble, stuck between shoe and sole. It luckily was not yet that deep. But the hoof was splintered nonetheless.

Childermass reached into his cloak again. “Hold his reigns”, he addressed Jonathan as he pulled out a small knife, “I need to get the stone out. This might hurt him and he could jump. Them young horses are like that.” Strange nodded and took his place. He held the reigns in one hand, while he cupped the horse’s neck with the other, muttering words of comfort.

Childermass placed the knife near the stone and began to dig it underneath the foreign body. Then in a steady move the Yorkshireman shaped the stone out of the hoof. A few drops of blood landed on his gloves and Felix nickered in protest. Jonathan called: “Scchhh… Easy, Felix, easy.” He kept caressing his stallion, until he had calmed down.

Childermass threw the stone away. He kept holding Felix’s hoof. The man looked up at Jonathan. “Do you happen to have a napkin? Or a bandage? Anything?”, he asked. Strange nodded hastily. “Sure, wait!” He got to his saddle back and searched through it. He came back and knelt down, handing John a napkin. “Will this do?”

Childermass slowly took the napkin. “Aye”, he replied. Their fingers touched by accident. Jonathan’s hands felt clean and a bit rough, covered in a few scars from the wars in Pennsylvania. It made Childermass wonder what had happened there. Strange noticed his look and withdrew his hand. He placed them in his pockets and rose.

Childermass carefully wrapped the napkin around the stallion’s hoof. He let go and rose as well. “There”, he addressed Jonathan, “That should do it. However if I were yah, I would clean the wound afterwards and give ‘im some rest for a few days.” The man turned around and noticed that the Second Magician of England was looking at him in some kind of wonder and seemed to be impressed.

“Did you work in a stable before you came to Norrell by chance?”, Jonathan asked. He watched Childermass move back to Brewer. The Yorkshireman took a hold of the saddle’s edge and placed his boot into the stirrup. While he swung himself onto the saddle with a grunt, he replied: “Once or twice. But only for a few days. Peons like meh were useful when one of the stable boys got sick.”

Childermass made himself more comfortable in the saddle. He watched Jonathan climb onto his horse as well. “Well”, stated Strange, “You did a pretty good job. Thanks.” The servant nodded. Both men softly pressed their legs into their horse’s sides. Hooves crunched over the path as Felix and Brewer fell into a trot and carried their riders through the streets, side by side.

When they had passed the trees and were in the open streets again, Childermass asked: “How old is Felix?” “Five years old”, answered Strange, “My mother gave him to me as a present on my eighteen birthday.” He sighed. “She was a good woman. Always kind and gentle. It is a shame she had to be married to this bloody fellow of a tormentor, who is my father.” Strange shook his head. “How was your mother, Childermass?”

Childermass could see that the memories of his mother pained him. There was a flicker of the shadows of grief on his face. However it died down quickly. Strange apparently did not like to dwell on whatever had appeared in his head. He now looked at Childermass, waiting for his answer.

Childermass gazed upwards as they trotted down the streets. The man watched clouds float in the sky like the hazy mist, that hide thieves in York’s streets. When he spoke, his words were slow as if he caught them out of time’s fabric: “My mother was a tough woman, bitter towards men and the laws, but determined and quick-witted. She always saw the worst in people for life had never been kind to her. But she helped those, who had the right hearts.”

Jonathan blinked. “That sounds depressing”, he said bluntly, “Almost as depressing as what happened with my mother. I am sorry.” “Don’t be, Mr. Strange”, replied Childermass. He gazed at his riding partner. “Yes, my mother’s life was miserable just like her ending, but in her core she was a good person. She taught me a lot.”

Childermass had not told anyone that he was the child of one of the most successful female thieves in the city of York. Black Joan Childermass had lead a group of child thieves and taught them a few tricks. She had also taught them how to read and write, so they had some chance in the cruel world later on. Childermass had grown up in this environment. He had been the son of a thief and become a thief. While it was not the most honourable profession, it showed Childermass the true colours of society. It taught him judgement and how to read people. It taught him independence and the bitter toughness you needed to survive on a few schillings every day.

But despite these harsh conditions Childermass was a rather noble person, who had his own code. The code, given by the fairy tales and folklore his mother told him in the evenings, before he went to bed. On the old powers of the English Magic, on fairies, on words and speeches of stone, water, air and animals, on the rule of the Raven King. They were the door to his interest in magic. And in his willingness to learn how to use it.

Jonathan smiled and let out a weak snicker. “That sounds good.” They fell silent again. The horses kept trotting side by side. Black and white. Beauty and horrendousness. Riches and poverty. A servant and a master. It was eerie how much a simple horse could tell about its rider. Childermass thoughtfully eyed Felix. The long, slender neck, the clean, pink nostrils, the wide open eyes. The slender, fragile legs moved elegantly and rhythmically, giving the trot a certain grace.

“How long do you own Felix, Sir?”, Childermass asked, deciding to change the subject. Jonathan smiled and thoughtfully caressed his horse behind his ears as he pondered his reply. “For seven years by now”, he answered, “He sadly always was a bit fuzzy. He luckily trusts me, but still… He cannot help from being a bit jumpy. How was Brewer like when you bought him?”

“Calm”, replied Childermass, “Very cool-headed for a horse his age. However also very stubborn.” He laughed and the sound was surprisingly loud and clear for someone with such a hoarse voice. “It took us a bit of time, until he learned to trust me. But he eventually did. Now he is even more calmer and relaxed then he was in his youth. He never was fiery or jumpy.”

They had reached Hanover Square. Childermass slowly halted before Mr. Norrell’s house. It was a nice, medium sized house with white columns before red walls and square, small windows. The house was small, compared to Hurtfew Abbey, however it was only to be ranted for a few seasons so this made up for the size.

The stables were in the courtyard, which was where Childermass wanted to go now. He looked at Mr. Strange and mused: “That conversation was very nice. I hope you have a good day, Mr. Strange.” He touched his cylinder as a greeting, before the servant slipped off the stallion’s back.

“Have a good day as well”, murmured Jonathan. He sat there, in Felix’s saddle and watched the Yorkshireman grab Brewer’s bridle to lead him to the stables. The man had barely taken a few steps, when Mr. Strange called after him: “Childermass! Could you possible be able to…” He chewed on his lips, not sure how to say this question. “I mean, that’s if Mr. Norrell allows it and you won’t have to cut short on your duty. But could you then…”

Childermass smiled. He stopped in his path and turned his head. “Mr. Strange”, responded the Yorkshireman, “if I find the time, I will gladly accompany you on a small ride out of town.” He lifted a hand and marched towards the stables. Jonathan too waved briefly, before, smiling like an idiot, he rode away.


End file.
